NIAGARA 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Shelf. H-U 

UNITED STATES OP AMERICA. 



The Legend of St. Olaf s Kirk. 

By GEORGE HOUGHTON. 

New Edition. 
" Little Classic " style $1.00 



A well-written poem, and one of more than ordinary literary merit, 
founded on a Scandinavian legend. The author has caught the true 
spirit of his theme, and we shall expect that, as the deeper merits of his 
production become recognized, other and larger editions will be required 
to meet the demand for it. — The Churchman (New York). 

The dramatic power is impressive ; life among the Norsemen is vividly 
pictured. — Providence Journal. 

Mr. Houghton's sympathetic study of Norse legends bears fruit in a 
very sincere and beautiful rendering of this tragic story of love, constancy, 
and death. There is no richer mine of poetry than that from which he 
has drawn the materials of his poem. His verse is simple, natural, and 
strong. — Christiati Union. 

The great beauty of this poem, its wealth of attractiveness. — The 
American (Philadelphia). 

A narrative poem of great beauty ; full of music and poetic imagery. — 
Cincinnati Commercial. 

*** For sale by Booksellers ; or sent, post-paid, on receipt of 
price by the Publishers, 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY, 
BOSTON, MASS. 



NIAGARA 



AND OTHER POEMS 



GEORGE HOUGHTON 




BOSTON ,-m\^\ 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
New York : 1 1 East Seventeenth Street 

1882 






Copyright, 1882, 
By GEO. W. W. HOUGHTON. 

All rights reserved. 



The Riverside Press, Cambridge : 
Stereotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. 



CONTENTS. 



PART FIRST. 

Niagara 7 

PART SECOND. 
Pen Pictures : 

Sandy Hook . 31 

The Shepherdess 32 

The Harper 33 

Battle of the Ford 34 

Dead Cedars 35 

Columbus 36 

The Mummy and the Rose 37 

Maid Marie 38 

The Manor Lord 39 

The Three Poplars 40 

The Dream of the Stork 43, 

PART THIRD. 

Songs and Ballads: 

The Tzigans' Pot 53 

■ Longing 55 

* Yesterday . . 56 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



Wynhilda 58 

Anniversary Hymn 60 

Scarred .61 

Daisies 62 

The Nest in the Haw 63 

Good Morrow 64 

The Red Rider 66 

Song : the Carpenter 68 

The Handsel Ring 70 



PART FOURTH. 
Drift from York Harbor, Maine: 
Alongshore 
The Gateway 
The Sea-shore . 
The Reaper . 
Four-leaf Clover 
The Big Bell 
The Summer Storm 
Evening . 
The Black Boars 
The Witch of York . 



75 
86 
88 
90 
92 
94 
96 
98 
100 
105 



PART FIFTH. 

Ketill the Sagaman : Introduction to ' 
of the Dragons." 
I. The Winter Court at Nidaros 
II. The Sagaman . ... 

III. The School of the Priests . 

IV. The Saga of the West . . . 



Six Flights 



PART FIRST. 

NIAGARA. 
I. 

INTRODUCTION. 

Formed when the oceans were fashioned, when all 

the world was a workshop ; 
Loud roared the furnace fires, and tall leapt the 

smoke from volcanoes, 
Scooped were round bowls for lakes, and grooves 

for the sliding of rivers, 
Whilst, with a cunning hand, the mountains were 

linked together. 

Then through the day-dawn, lurid with cloud, and 
rent by forked lightning, 

Stricken by earthquake beneath, above by the rat- 
tle of thunder, 

Sudden the clamor was pierced by a voice, deep- 
lunged and portentous, — 

Thine, O Niagara, crying : " Now is creation com- 
pleted ! " 



8 NIAGARA. 

II. 

Millions of cup-like blossoms, brimming with dew 
and with rain-drops, 

Mingle their tributes together to form one slow- 
trickling brooklet ; 

Thousands of brooklets and rills, leaping down 
from their homes in the uplands, 

Grow to a smooth blue river, serene, and flowing in 
silence. 

Hundreds of smooth blue rivers, flashing afar o'er 
the prairies, 

Darkening 'neath forests of pine, deep drowning 
the reeds in the marshes, 

Cleaving with noiseless sledge the rocks red-crusted 
with copper, 

Circle at last to one common goal, the Mighty Sea- 
Water. 

Lo ! to the northward outlying, wide glimmers the 
stretch of the Great-Lake, 

White-capped and sprinkled with foam, that tum- 
bles its bellowing breakers 

Landward on beaches of sand, and in hiding-holes 
hollow with thunder, 

Landward where plovers frequent, with the wolf 
and the westering bison. 



NIAGARA. 9 

Four such Sea-Waters as this, a chain of green 

land-bounden oceans, 
Pour into one their tides, ever yearning to greet the 

Atlantic, 
Press to one narrow sluice, and proffering their 

tribute of silver, 
Cry as they come : " Receive us, Niagara, Father 

of Waters ! " 

Such is the Iroquois god, the symbol of might and 
of plenty, 

Shrine of the untutored brave, subdued by an un- 
fathomed longing, 

Seeking in water and wind, still seeking in star- 
glow and lightning, 

Something to kneel to, something to pray to, some- 
thing to worship. 

Here, when the world was wreathed with the scar- 
let and gold of October, 

Here, from far-scattered camps, came the mocca- 
sined tribes of the red-man, 

Left in their tents their bows, forgot their brawls 
and dissensions, 

Ringed thee with peaceful fires, and over their cal- 
umets pondered \ 



10 NIAGARA. 

Chose from their fairest virgins the fairest and 

purest among them, 
Hollowed a birchen canoe, and fashioned a seat 

for the virgin, 
Clothed her in white, and set her adrift to whirl to 

thy bosom, 
Saying : " Receive this our vow, Niagara, Father of 

Waters ! " 



III. 



THE PILGRIM. 

Pilgrim I too once came, to tender my token of 

homage, 
I too once stood on thy wooded banks, my heart 

filled with wonder, 
I too would render some gift, some tribute of song 

and of harp-strings, 
But 'neath the roll of thy wheels, my shepherd's 

flute was o'ermastered. 

Calling, thou seemest to murmur : " Come, and I 
will instruct thee ! " 

Willing I ran, like a palmer of old, with his pike- 
staff and wallet, 



NIAGARA. II 

Willing I lingered long, to go but to turn on the 

morrow, 
Coming again and again, — yet only to doubt the 

more deeply 

Idol I found thee, unfeeling, challenging man but 

to mock him, 
Whispering to one that is weak of voids that are 

vast and almighty, 
Hinting of things heaven-high to one not winged 

like an eagle, 
Telling of changeless parts to a leaflet that reddens 

to perish ; 

Ever, as nearer I fared, the mightier, less merciful 
found thee, 

Till, after listening long, I faltered, forlorn and dis- 
heartened ; 

Wearied of ceaseless strife, and yearned for some 
peaceful seclusion, 

Where to the chorusing throng both ear and eye 
might be shuttered ; 

Hated the turmoil of life, where sounds that are 

sweetest are strangled, 
And into discord clash those martial measures, that 

struggling, 



12 NIAGARA. 

Should through the din of the dismallest fight, with 
quavering echoes, 

Nerve the warrior anew, and fire his soul with de- 
votion. 

Turning toward far-off fields, I fled, till stopping 
to listen, 

Only dull undertones told that still thou wert call- 
ing and calling ; 

Wept, and wished it mid-winter, that muffled in 
snows of December, 

All the world might be smothered in silence utterly 
soundless ; 

Wished like a Druid to hie to some mountain-top 

shorn and unsheltered, 
Where, in their wildest flights, the riotous winds 

might be stifled, 
Finding no hollow reed through which to pipe their 

bravuras, 
Finding no trembling twig on which to twang their 

lamentings 

Then, as I crost a meadow-land, dight with mallow 

and daisies, 
Heard the low bumble of bees, and the delicate 

footsteps of robins 



NIAGARA. 13 

That o'er the crispy leaves of the scrub-oak coverts 

went hopping, 
Suddenly — who shall explain it ? — faith returned 

to my bosom ; 

Suddenly hope revived, the fog from the fens was 
uplifted, 

Lost was the din of life that stormed and roared 
in the roadways, 

Calm were the grassy fields, a lullaby purred 
through the willows, 

And overhead the night was illumined with flicker- 
ing beacons. 



IV. 



Often, in later years, allured by thy strange fascina- 
tion, 

Often again I have come, with feet that would not 
turn backward, 

Often knelt at thy feet, and sought with a lover's 
persistence, 

Whether, beneath thy dolorous fugue, one promise 
was whispered. 



14 NIAGARA. 

Hope there was none for me ; august was the deep 

diapason, 
But 't was the moan of the sea, the growl of the 

forest unfeeling, 
Threat of the sulphurous skies, that when they are 

fevered and angry- 
Volley the world with flame and curse mankind 

with their laughter. 



V. 

THE UPPER RAPIDS. 

Still, with the wonder of boyhood, I follow the race 
of thy Rapids, 

Sirens that dance, and allure to destruction, — now 
lurking in shadows, 

Skirting the level stillness of pools and the treach- 
erous shallows, 

Smiling and dimple - mouthed, coquetting, — now 
modest, now forward ; 

Tenderly chanting, and such the thrall of the weird 

incantation, 
Thirst it awakes in each listener's soul, a feverish 

longing, 



NIAGARA. 15 

Thoughts all-absorbent, a torment that stings and 
ever increases, 

Burning ambition to push bare-breast to thy peril- 
ous bosom. 

Thus, in some midnight obscure, bent down by the 

storm of temptation 
(So hath the wind, in the beechen wood, confided 

the story), 
Pine-trees, thrusting their way and trampling down 

one another, 
Curious, lean and listen, replying in sobs and in 

whispers ; 

Till of the secret possessed, which brings sure 

blight to the hearer 
(So hath the wind, in the beechen wood, confided 

the story), 
Faltering, they stagger brinkward, — clutch at the 

roots of the grasses, 
Cry, — a pitiful cry of remorse, — and plunge down 

in the darkness. 

Art thou all-merciless then, — a fiend, ever fierce 

for new victims ? 
Was then the red-man right (as yet it liveth in 

legend), 



1 6 NIAGARA. 

That, ere each twelvemonth circles, still to thy 

shrine is allotted 
Blood *of one human heart, as sacrifice due and 

demanded ? 

Butterflies have I followed, that leaving the red-top 

and clover, 
Thinking a wind-harp thy voice, thy froth the fresh 

whiteness of daisies, 
Ventured too close, grew giddy, and catching cold 

drops on their pinions, 
Balanced — but vainly, — and falling, their scarlet 

was blotted forever. 



VI. 

THE CATARACT. 

Still to thy Fall I come near, as unto earth's grand- 
est cathedral, 

Forehead uncovered, hands down, with feet that 
falter beneath me ; 

Hearing afar, o'er the rustling grass and the rush 
of the river, 

Chorus triumphant, thy trumpet voice, and I trem 
ble with weakness. 



NIAGARA. I J 

Tall above tower and tree looms thy steeple builded 
of sunshine, 

Mystical steeple, white like a cloud, upyearning 
toward heaven, 

Till into cloud-land it drifts, uprolling in hill-tops 
and headlands, 

Catches the glory of sunset, then pales into rose- 
tint and purple. 

Slowly, through gothic aisles, I creep to the steps 

of thine altar, 
Halfway forgetting thy presence, though still with 

each step I draw nearer, 
Halfway forgetting thy voice, so far it sends fancy 

awandering, 
Till, with a sudden ascent, full-face thou standest 

before me. 

Who, upon tiptoes straining, shall snare the fleet 

course of the comet ! 
Who in bright pigments shall match the luminous 

sun-god at mid-day ! 
Who shall dare picture in words the turbulent 

wrath of the tempest ! 
Seeing, I can but stand still, with finger on lip, and 

keep silent. 
2 



1 8 NIAGARA. 



VII. 



Lo ! drifting toward us approaches a curious tangle 

of something ! 
White and untillered it floats, bewitching the sight, 

and appearing 
Like to a birchen canoe, a virgin crouched pallid 

within it, 
Hastening with martyr zeal to solve the unriddled 

hereafter ! 

Slower and smoother her flight, until on the preci- 
pice pausing, 

Just for the space of a breath the dread of the 
change seems to thrill her ; 

Crossing herself, and seeming to shudder, she lifts 
eyes to heaven, — 

Sudden a mist upwhirls — I see not — but know 
all is over. 

Stoop and explore the void where this vision of 

fancy hath vanished ! 
Torrents of green and blue drench down the dizzy 

escarpment, 



NIAGARA. 19 

Fall into scattered flakes, and merge into fury of 

snow-squalls ; 
Crisp like glaciers they shatter, then smoke in the 

whirl of the vortex. 

Stoop and look down ! and read, if you can, the 

terrible riddle ! 
Nay ! the secret of death by death's eyes alone 

can be fathomed ; 
But o'er the mystery finished is fluttered the curtain 

Most Holy, 
And on this curtain is set the sign of redemption 

— a rainbow ! 

Symbol of hope is this, or merely man's hopeful 
invention ? 

Thou hast no answer to that, beyond this dull un- 
dertone moaning : 

" Man of all animate things the noblest, most 
meanly ignoble, 

Smiling only to tempt, and spoiling whate'er he 
embraces ! " 

Is then thy bow we clasp'd as pledge of a promise 

unfailing, 
Naught but a sun-dog ferocious, that mouthing the 

mariner's noonday, 



20 NIAGARA. 

Kisses with lying lips the soft-sleeping clouds of 
midsummer, 

Only to taunt him, lulled by the calm, with an am- 
bushed tornado ? 

Faith in thee have I none ! I lift spent eyes, and 
despairing, 

Set my teeth in defiance. Fate, then, the father of 
all things ! 

I but a victim moth, to be snatched by a merciless 
current, 

Dragged by cold eddies down, to be lost and for- 
gotten forever ! 

Why then this pilgrimage here ? God knows no 
willful self-seeking 

Lent us this restless life ; and no faint-heart or re- 
bellion 

Gives us this fear to lie down, and rest in the slum- 
berous dreamland ! 

— Answer, if answer thou hast ! Answer, Niagara ! 
answer ! 

Weary with waiting, we climb to the hill-tops near- 
est to heaven, 

Find only floating fogs, and air too meagre to 
nourish ; 



NIAGARA. 21 

Seeking the depths of the sea, we drop our plum- 
mets and feel them, 

Draw them in empty, or yellowed with clay, that 
melts and tells nothing ; 

Forests we thread, wide prairies unfenced, and 
drenched morasses, 

Strike, with the fervor of youth, to the heart of the 
tenantless deserts, 

Turn every boulder, still hoping to find beneath 
them some prophet, — 

Find only thistles unsunn'd, green sloth, and pas- 
sionless creatures. 

Youth flitted by us, we faint, then sink in the ruts 

of our fathers ; 
Shift as we may with the old beliefs, and beat on 

our bosoms ; 
Seek less and hunger less keenly, still sorrow for 

self and for others, 
Striving, by travail and tears, life's deeper meaning 



•Drag from sunset to sunset, too fainting to fear for 

the morrow, 
Suffer, complain of our loads, but catch at their 

withes as they leave us, 



22 NIAGARA. 

Letting the song-birds escape, perceiving not till 

they Ve fluttered, — 
Bitterly weeping then, as we watch them die in the 

distance. 

Struggling, we snatch at straws ; call out, expecting 

no answer ; 
Pray, but without any faith ; grow laggard and 

laugh at our anguish ; 
Sin, and with wine-cup deadened, scoff at the dread 

of hereafter, — 
And, because all seems lost, besiege Death's door 

way with gladness. 

Better we had not been, for what is the goal of such 

striving ? 
Bubbles that glitter perchance, to burst in thin air 

as they glitter ! 
Comets that cleave the night, to leave the night but 

the darker ! 
Smudge that bursts into flame, but only in smoke 

to be smothered ! 

Out of the gifts of our spring, that only is beautiful 

counted 
Which with the day-dawn breaks bud, and dies ere 

the dew-drops have left it ; 



NIAGARA. 23 

Smiles there no healthfuller clime, where forms 

that are fair never perish, 
But in a life-giving ether grow fairer with ripening 

seasons ? 

Iroquois god, I adore thee, because thou art lasting 
and mighty, 

Turn and gaze at thee, going, as on an all-marvel- 
ous vision, 

Dread thee, thou art so serene, — but hate thee 
with hatred most bitter, . 

Taunter of all who dabble thy foam, and think to 
discover. 

VIII. 

THE GORGE. 

'Neath the abyss lies the Valley, a valley of dark- 
ness, — a hades, 

Where the spent stream, as it strives, seeks only an 
end to its anguish ; 

Who shall its fastnesses fathom, or tell what wrecks 
they envelop ? 

Here 'neath the tides of time, life's remnants 
await resurrection. 



24 NIAGARA. 

Deep is the way, and weary the way, while lofty 
above it 

Frowns, upon either hand, a cliff sheer-shouldered 
or beetling, 

Holding in durance forever the course of the will- 
broken exile, 

Blighting all hope of return, should it pant for the 
flowering pastures. 

But from the brinks lean down a few slender birches 
and cedars, 

Dazed by the depth and the gloom of the channel 
resounding beneath them ; 

Here campanulas, too, which lurk wherever is dan- 
ger, 

Stoop with a smile of hope, reflecting the blue of 
the heavens. 

Fleeter still flies the flood, up-heaping its scum at 
the centre, 

Dragging the tides from the shores to leave them a 
hand-breadth the lower ; 

While, like a serpent of yellow, the spume crooks 
down to the Whirlpool, 

Trails with a zigzagging motion down to the hide- 
ous Whirlpool. 



NIAGARA. 25 

IX. 

THE WHIRLPOOL. 

Here is the end of all things, of all things another 

beginning. 
Here the long valley crooks, and the flight of the 

river is broken ; 
Round is the cavernous pool, and in at one side 

leaps the river, 
Headlong it plunges, despairing, and beats on the 

bars of its prison ; 

Beats, and runs wildly from wall to wall, then 

strives to recover, 
Beats on another still, and around the circle is 

carried, 
Jostled from shoulder to shoulder, till losing its 

galloping motion, 
Dizzily round it swirls, and is dragged toward the 

hideous Whirlpool. 

Lofty the rock-walls loom, the narrow outlet con- 
cealing, 
Loftier still stoop pines, that shut out the pity of 



26 NIAGARA. 

Whilst above both a shadow, as if from the wings 

of a vulture, 
Sheds over all below a pall more spectral than 

midnight. 

Up from the seething witch-pot arises a sulphurous 

vapor, 
Smoke-clouds slow-winged drift hither and hence, 

revealing, now hiding ; 
Whilst from the hollow depths, that hiss from some 

under-world fervor, 
Bubble, in torrents black, the refuse of wreck and 

corruption. 

Round sweeps the horrible maelstrom, and into the 

whirl of its vortex 
Circle a broken boat, an oar-blade, things without 

number ; 
Striving, they shove one another, and seem to 

hurry, impatient 
To measure the shadowy will-be, and seek from 

their torment a respite. 

Logs that have leapt the Falls and swum unseen 
'neath the current, 

Here are restored again, and weird is their resur- 
rection ; 



NIAGARA. 27 

Here like straws they are snapt, and grinding like 

millstones together, 
Chafing and splintering their mates, they wade in 

their deepening ruins ; 

Till, without hope, on tiptoe they rise, lips shriv- 
eled and speechless, 

Seeing sure fate before them that tightens its toils 
to ensnare them ; 

Hollow the hell-hole gapes, and ravenously it re- 
ceives them, — 

All that is left is a sigh, and the echoes of that are 
soon strangled. 



X. 

CONCLUSION. 

This then, can this be the end ? and death but a 
blotting forever ? 

Turning, a bird was beside me, and striking a deli- 
cate measure, 

Clearly it whistled, — a herald-like strain, that chal- 
lenged a hearer, 

Sung — 't was a broken song, — and stopping, far 
distant it fluttered. 



28 NIAGARA. 

" Seek within ! " was its message, " without is only 

reflection ; 
Sinless are nature's forms, and therefore utterly 

soulless ; 
Sin may debase thee, make thee the servant of 

Fate and of Nature, — 
But to thy height arise, and thou art of all things 

creator. 

" That alone is august which is gazed upon by the 

noble, 
That alone is gladsome which eyes full of gladness 

discover ; 
Night-time is but a name for the darkness man 

nurtures within him, 
Storm but a symbol of sin in a soul that is stained 

and unshriven. 

" Act but thine own true part, as He who created 
hath purposed, 

Then are the waters thine, the winds, all forces of 
nature ; 

Thine too the seasons, their fruits, which they red- 
den but to surrender, 

Thine too the years, and thine all time, — ever- 
lasting and fearless ! " 



PART SECOND. 
PEN PICTURES. 



SANDY HOOK. 

White sand and cedars ; cedars, sand ; 
Light-houses here and there ; a strand 
Strewn o'er with driftwood ; tangled weeds ; 
A squad of fish-hawks poised above 
The nets, too anxious-eyed to move ; 
Flame-flowering cactus ; winged seeds, 
That on a sea of sunshine lie 
Unf anned, save by some butterfly ; 
A sun now reddening toward the west; — 
And under and through all one hears 
That mellow voice, old as the years, 
The waves' low monotone of unrest. 
So wanes the summer afternoon 
In drowsy stillness, and the moon 
Appears ; when sudden, round about 
The wind-cocks wheel, — hoarse fog-horns shout 
A warning, and in gathering gloom 
Against the sea's white anger loom 
Tall shapes of wreckers, torch in hand, 
Rattling their life-boats down the sand ! 
Main Light, July, 1879. 



32 THE SHEPHERDESS. 



THE SHEPHERDESS. 

A hill of heather 'gainst a yellow sky ; 
And on its top. as on a buttress high, 
A shape, a moving form, from rock to rock 
With hands uplifted leading home the flock. 

As on the living picture wends its way, 

A silhouette upon the fading day, 

The figure stops, and one by one, aright, 

The sheep pass by, and downward, out of sight. 

And after them the figure follows down, 
Grows short and shorter, till the heather brown 
Alone is left, and one uplifted hand, — 
Then purple twilight covers up the land. 

Edinburgh, Scotland. 



THE HARPER. 33 



THE HARPER. 

No wonder, harp, thou likest well to lie 

Thus nestled to her bosom ; — so would I ! 

No wonder thy soft, rapturous undertone, 

When her flushed cheek creeps nearer to thine 

own ! 
No wonder her white buskin and lithe thigh 
Thrill thee from head to heel with half-drawn sigh ; 
And that whene'er her hands caress thy breast, 
Thou sendest forth a shudder of unrest ! 
No wonder that whene'er thou leanest nearer, 
Thou singest ever louder, ever clearer, — 
Now laughing, while a smile lights up her lips, 
Now weeping, while a tear-drop from her slips ; 
And then, from very ecstasy, again 
Breakest to laughter — half delight, half pain, 
Which ripples to each listener and awakes 
That boyhood glee that Time too soon o'ertakes, — 
But then, like all our glee, before it flies 
Strikes on the thorn beneath the rose, and dies. 
No wonder, passionate harp, thou lov'st to lie 
Half buried on her bosom ; — so would I ! 
3 



34 BATTLE OF THE FORD. 



BATTLE OF THE FORD. 

[Impression left after listening to story narrated by a French 
cavalry officer.] 

" Far off the eye could catch the sea aglimmer 
Against the west, — now but a shimmer, — 
And tremulous, with each wink its line grew dim- 
mer ; 

" Till now a massed-up blur alone remains, 
Stabbed through by lightning ; pommel and reins 
Blooded with sword-thrusts and long trickling stains. 

" Keen was the crackle of the steady thunder, 

Shriller the screaming shot, and under 

My horse's hoofs they tore the world asunder. 

" The lightnings keen ! but just above the bridge 

Flamed a live furnace, and the ridge 

Of tents ran fire, even to the river's edge. 

" Its current, curdled, dammed the purple tide 

With wrecks ; the torrent, stupefied, 

Shrank from the heroes who down-dropping died. 



DEAD CEDARS. 35 

" Night was disguised, an unsunned monster day ; 
And daybreak, coming, snatched the gray 
Smoke muffle, and close hid her face away." 
Tours, France. 



DEAD CEDARS. 

By noonday, stranded skeletons they seem, 

Of behemoths borne from some far, tropic stream, 

In some bright-blossoming period of old ; 
By moonlight, spectres, with long ghostly hands, 
Trenching a magic circle in the sands, 

Lest stumbling footstep fire the night with gold. 



36 COLUMBUS. 



COLUMBUS. 

[For title-page of Irving's ".Columbus."] 

He failed. He reached to grasp Hesperides, 
To track the footsteps of the sun, that flies 
Toward some far-western couch, and watch it 

rise, — 
But fell on unknown sand-reefs, chains, disease. 

He won. With splendid daring, from the seas' 
Hard, niggard fist he plucked the prize, 
And gave a virgin world to Europe's eyes, 
Where gold-dust choked the streams, and spice the 
breeze. 

He failed fulfillment of the task he planned, 
And dropped a weary head on empty hand, 
Unconscious of the vaster deed he 'd done ; 
But royal legacy to Ferdinand 
He left : a key to doorways gilt with sun, — 
And proudest title of "World-father" won ! 



THE MUMMY AND THE ROSE. 27 



THE MUMMY AND THE ROSE. 

[On picture by F. S. Church, representing a mummy's head 
contrasted with a rose in bloom.] 

Grim contrast ! 'Gainst a background weird as 

night, 
A mummy's head, with smirking jaws apart, 
And cerements of coarse linen clasping tight 
Its snaky locks, that seem to writhe and dart. 

Before it, smiling, flushed with recent flight 
(For Morning wore it near her throbbing heart), 
Each crumpled petal dewy yet, and bright, 
A half-blown rose ! — Thy pulses well may start ! 

Profane, almost, the fancy thus confessed : 
This fragile thing, like gauntlet girt with lace, 
Flung in the withered cheek of Time, — sad jest ; 
And sorrier still, that this lean, lecherous face 
So close to blushing innocence should slip, — 
Dead Past and Maiden Present lip to lip ! 



38 MAID MARIE. 



MAID MARIE. 

Soft sunset kissed the castle court, 

And kissed the curtains where she lay; 
Listless she looked, while white as milk 

Her doves came hovering o'er the bay; 
On mantel, bench, and bed they sat, 

On cornice-mold and carved stairway, 
And cooing sadly, waited still ; — 

Done was the sweet June day. 

Treading their perch with restless feet, 

Sore grieved each feathered carrier grew ; 
Then came the whir of their countless wings 

(Save one that to her bosom drew), 
While through the lattice and low porch, 

Afar into the heavens blue, 
Where past the clouds a pathway led, 

Bearing her soul they flew. 



THE MANOR LORD. 39 



THE MANOR LORD. 

Beside the landsman knelt a dame, 

And slowly pushed the pages o'er ; 
Still by the hearthfire's spending flame 

She waited, while a hollow roar 
Came from the chimney, and the breath 

Of twice seven hounds upon the floor ; 
And save the old man's labored moan, 

The night had no sound more. 

The fire flickered j with a start 

The master hound upflung his head ; 
Sudden he whined, when with one spring 

Each hunter bounded from his bed, — 
And through rent blind and bolted door 

All voiceless every creature fled ; 
The blinking watcher closed her book : 

" Amen, our lord is dead ! " 



40 THE THREE POPLARS. 



THE THREE POPLARS. 

A PICTURE FROM NORMANDY. 

Three of them — lithe Lombard poplars — 

Stand half wading in the brook, 
And stoop to hold it like a mirror, 

O'er which they lean and look. 

Lonely, maybe — not unlikely ! 

Level is that Norman reach ; 
Full three good leagues it westward stretches, 

Then dips into sand-beach. 

Far to southward, far to northward, 
Shine the grain-fields, gold and green, 

That pant beneath the summer noonday ; 
The Vire road shines between. 

Poppies, red like living embers, 
Burn among the ripened wheat ; 

And butterflies, above the corn-flowers, 
Like sparks fly, vivid, fleet. 



THE THREE POPLARS. 4 1 

Far to eastward, the horizon 

Lifts into a ridge of blue — 
There lie the hills, and just below them 

A minster looms up too. 

Now the noon, with poppies drunken, 

Down its heavy head hath laid ; 
Barley reapers, prone, are napping 

Beneath their sheaves new-made. 

And the three trees, dozing, dreaming, 

Taste again Italian skies, 
Flooding the land so full of sunlight 

That every shadow dies. 

Suddenly there comes a whisper 
That the sea, portentous, sends ; 

The stillness all at once grows solemn — 
A hush of death descends. 

Dim upon the far horizon, 

Lo, the wheat-fields shimmer white ; 
They lift and drop, they flash and darken, 

Like billowy seas of light. 

Vineyards sway, and bean and hop-fields 
Kneel before some unseen power ; 



42 THE THREE POPLARS. 

A horseman, posting down the highway, 
Builds up a dusty tower. 

Swift, across the meadows sweeping, 
Nears the tide and neareth still ; 

It smites the brook, and breaks its mirror, - 
It is the wind's fierce will ! 

Just behind, rain chariots follow, 
Heavy- wheeled they rush and roll, 

Approaching ever nearer, nearer, — 
Fear lends the trees a soul. 

Wheat, down-thrown, is trampled under 
As though smitten by a flail ; 

And wild, with slim white arms embracing, 
The poplars turn death-pale. 



THE DREAM OF THE STORK. 43 



THE DREAM OF THE STORK. 

[While visiting Strasbourg I occupied a sky-parlor in a hotel, 
where my nearest neighbor was a stork, domiciled on one of 
the chimneys of the opposite house. During the day it occa- 
sionally dropped into the streets and court-yards, but with the 
coming of twilight it could always be seen outlined against 
the western sky, — a spectral shape, poised with one leg upon 
the house-top, and with head depressed, as if wrapt in con- 
templation. The dream of this weird bird, as nearly as I 
could make it out, was something as follows.] 

" Warder of Zimmerman's house " the goodfolk 
of Strasbourg have clept me. 

Eldest of all their storks, I restfully drowse on my 
roof-tree, 

Folded about by twilight, with all the heavens en- 
shrouded, 

Save to the uttermost west, where a luminous rib- 
bon still lingers. 

And as I drowse and dream, the dusky present for- 
getting, 



44 THE DREAM OF THE STORK. 

Lo ! the gates of the past swing open on whispering 
hinges, 

While, like a wrack of wind-scud, swift on the heels 
of each other 

Flying out of the gloom, across the low, lurid hori- 
zon, 

Struggle in weird procession the ghosts of my for- 
mer companions ! 

Memnon of Thebes I see, saluting the daydawn 

with music, 
Calling with magic voice to Ra, far-throned on the 

mountains, 
Saying : " Arise, All-father ! Behold how parched 

are our pastures ! 
Thrill with thy passionate kiss the proud Abyssin- 
ian snow-tops ! 
Quicken with wonder of life the wombs of the 

fountains, long barren, 
Breathe on the shrunken breasts of the cataracts, 

— breathe, and restore them ! 
Ra, have pity upon us, and seeing our grief and 

repentance, 
Lift to our thirsting lips the bowl of thine infinite 

bounty ! " 



THE DREAM OF THE STORK. 45 

Laughter of waves I hear, as Memnon's prayer 
being ended, 

Caught by a thousand tongues the echoing answer 
returneth ; 

Plash of the fish I hear, as the tide grows clearer 
and colder ! 

Winnow of flickering wings, the rustle of reed and 
of bulrush, 

Breezes stirring the palms, the behemoth plunging 
and trampling, 

Ripple of rising waves and gossip of murmuring 
voices 

Whispering each to the other, " Is not the Ibis be- 
hindhand ? 

All things else being ready, wherefore comes not 
the Ibis ? " 

Then as they speak he comes, the herald of bloom 
and of harvest, 

White as the lilies that fringe the banks of the fast- 
swelling river • 

Sailing with princely air, among the lotus he set- 
tles, 

Pushing aside the lilies ; and now with one shout 
of laughter, 

Leap with a joyous bound the plumed and gallop- 
ing billows 



46 THE DREAM OF THE STORK. 

Over the shrinking dykes ; and wide through the 

meadows unclouded 
Runs the rich bounty of Zefa, and long-rainless 

meadows are watered. 

Cheops I see, and Cephrenes, their shoulders 

crimsoned with sun-burst, 
Drifts from a by-gone age left beached on the sand- 
driven present, 
Looming serene, unaltered, above the surge of the 

ages. 
Needle-like shafts I see, writ o'er by Time's finger 

untiring, 
Signs from that halcyon age whereby my soul was 

once nurtured, 
Which, having served its time, to newer forms was 

transmitted, 
Nobler or grosser, happy or hard, as Ra in his 

wisdom 
Found for the ultimate good, that the world might 

work its redemption. 

Smilest thou in thy dreams ? May thy sleep, my 
brother, be restful ! 
'Neath these bird feathers of mine, like thee a spirit 
I cherish, 



THE DREAM OF THE STORK. 47 

Kindled by Helios' torch, that hath neither end nor 

beginning, 
Being a part of that presence, the same All-father, 

All-mother, — 
Being a part of the God that hath neither end nor 

beginning. 
Lo ! my spirit, like thine, once lodged in a man- 
child's bosom, 
Slowly grew with his growth, was filled with hunger 

and yearning, 
Stricken by human sorrow, striving, oft foiled and 

oft fretted ; 
Till to full manhood I grew, a bearded and priestly 

Egyptian, 
Who, 'tween the pilons of Thebes, the brazen sis- 

trum resounding, 
Or through its populous courtways bearing my 

scrolls of papyrus, 
Walked and was voiceless as now, perceiving all 



Trust it not to thy tongue, but this is my day- 
dream mysterious. 
Hence seek I lofty sites, that offer the broadest 
horizons ; 



48 THE DREAM OF THE STORK. 

Hence do I sit in stillness, pursuing the old medi- 
tations, 
Loving the warmth of thy chimney that tells of a 

home and a fireside, 
Loving thy bells, thy streets, the rumble of traffic 

and fashion ; 
Yet ever lonely, estranged, and longing to doff these 

disguises, , 

Summon my human voice, for ages tongue-tied and 

silent, 
And in my panther robe, slow-paced, fork-bearded, 

and kindly, 
Drop to thy latticed porch, — and drawing thy 

children about me, 
Cull from my curious lore replies to their questions 

untiring. 
Hence, with the waning sun and the earliest chal- 
lenge of winter, 
Longing I southward look and restlessly rustle my 

pinions, 
Drawn toward my haunts of old, though fireless 

long, and forsaken, 
Drawn toward familiar skies and toward the tombs 

of my fathers, 
Where, in the starless depths of a nether and 

honeycombed city, 



THE DREAM OF THE STORK. 49 

Sealed in its painted cradle and wrapt in its herbs 
and fine linen, 

Lies, long tenantless, cold, the cage that once pris- 
oned my spirit. 

Hence, with the morrow morn, ere the minster 
bells have awakened, 

Leagues away will I be, perceiving upon the horizon, 

Dimly, the film of blue that tells of the Mediterra- 
nean ; 

And when thy babes from their nests slip forth to 
the wind-shaken casement, 

Barren my nest will be, and sadly through slumber- 
ing Strasbourg 

Lip unto lip will reecho the tidings of deep lamen- 
tation : 

" Lo ! the storks have flown southward ! Empty 
their nests on our roof-trees ! 

Bitter the air hath grown ; our summer hath with 
them flown southward ! 

Lo ! the north is obscured, and Winter, unstalling 
his legions, 

Wreath'd by his stallions' breath and smoke of his 
axle-trees flaming, 

Leaps to their front, scythe-charioted, and rides to 
besiege us." 
4 



50 THE DREAM OF THE STORK. 

Lock then thy casements, and feed fresh logs to 

thy hungering chimneys ; 
Now is love's harvest to homes where closer the 

hearts cling together. 
Live then from day to day remembering that I, 

who forget not, 
Wearing beneath my wings reward both for good 

and for evil, 
Will, if thy scroll be stainless, flutter again to thy 

roof-tree, 
Bringing, at each return, from hand of Hathor the 

Golden, 
Meed beyond earthly price, the gifts of love and 

contentment ! 



PART THIRD. 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 



THE TZIGANS' POT. 



I am the Tzigans' pot ; 
I have come from a far-away no-man's-land, 
Hung heavy in many a swarthy hand, 
The homeless mate of a hearthless race, 
Who, as they wander from place to place, 
Still cling to their Tzigans' pot. 



I am the Tzigans' pot ; 
When daylight fades into dusk and damp, 
I help the womenfolk cheer the camp 
With my brushwood fire, whose friendly glow 
Soon brightens the boughs and the faces below 
That circle the bubbling pot. 



I am the Tzigans' pot ; 
That many a boisterous noon hath known, 
When bitter the sleety blasts have blown, 



54 THE TZIGANS' POT. 

When frosty feet have crept close to mine, 
And children's voices, chilled to a whine, 
Have blest the warm Tzigans' pot. 



I am a Tzigans' pot, 
And dreary daybreaks remember too, 
When mouths were many and leeks were few ; 
But never, while i'da gourdful still, 
Was any who hungered refused his fill 
By the rover, the Tzigans' pot. 



LONGING. 55 



LONGING. 



I hear in the twitter of birds her song, 
I hear her step in the rustling grass, 

Her laugh on the evening breeze, — and I long 
To see my Margaret pass. 

I see her eyes in the sparkling dew, 

Her hair in the tasseled corn, soft fanned, 

Her form in the drifting cloud, — and I long 
To hold my Margaret's hand. 

I feel her pulse in the river's flow, 

In the summer rain, that drips and drips, 

Her breath on the perfumed breeze, — and I long 
To taste my Margaret's lips ! 



56 YESTEKDA Y. 



YESTERDAY. 

While King Karl at midnight feasted, 
Sudden, springing from his chair, 

With clenched hand he smote his forehead, 
Wailing, " Lost ! beyond repair ! " 

"Nay, my lord," his courtiers answered, 
" Do but name your royal will, 
Serried spears and flashing banners 
Shall command the Meuse stand still ! " 

"Nay again ! " the pale king stammered, 
While still clanged the cloister bell, 

1 Lost, beyond all snares most cunning ! 
Hear'st thou not its good-bye knell ? 

" All my bow-men and my stallions, 
All my fleet of beaked ships, 
Powerless are to fetch or find it 
When, as now, the treasure slips ; 



YESTERDAY. 57 

" All the marble in my quarries, 
All my barley, sack on sack, 
All my crowns of crusted jewels 
Cannot buy the bounty back ! " 



58 WYN HILDA. 



WYNHILDA. 



" Thou shalt not whimper, daughter mine ! 

No selfish season this for sighs ! 
There are kine to milk, and paths to be digged, 

And the hind — hear how it grieves and cries ! 
Fresh snow on the roof-tree lieth thick, 

Still heavy the drifts weigh down the skies ; 
This be a day to do and dare, — 

Then up, Wynhilda, — dry thine eyes ! " 



1 It 's not from the handwork I hold back, 
It 's not for frost I fret and weep ; 
My fingers are willing, — but faith grows faint, — 
O prithee, mother, let me sleep ! " 



" Weak words, thy words, Wynhilda mine ! 

These days, bear-fierce, must hearts be dead ; 
Though Edwald sleep face-down to-night, 
And firebrand show his bosom red 



WYNHILDA. 59 

With axe and war-bill, vain be tears ! 

This morn 's no morn to hang the head • 
Our clansmen's woe is our common woe, — 

And death were his proudest marriage-bed ! " 



' Nay, stay thy chiding, mother mine ! 

I 've flown this night to the field, rock-girt ; 
I weep, but not for Edwald slain, — 
A caitiff he skulked, alone unhurt ! " 



. 60 ANNIVERSARY HYMN. 



ANNIVERSARY HYMN. 

There have been nobler days, my friends, 

And ruddier skies than ours, 
When men wrought deeds, but God the ends, 

And faiths grew into powers. 

There have been loftier stations too, 
When youths wore souls of men, 

Because they had great deeds to do, — 
Greatness was goodness then. 

And prouder destinies have been, 
When truth was saved from harm, 

Smitten, the miracles of sin 
By man's God-muscled arm. 

Yet epochs, stations, destinies 

Are not mere births of time ; 
Sublimely do what in us lies : 

This is to be sublime ! 



6i 



SCARRED. 

Far nobler the sword that is nicked and worn, • 

Far fairer the flag that is grimy and torn, 

Than when, to the battle, fresh they were borne. 

He was tried and found true j he stood the test; 
'Neath whirlwinds of doubt, when all the rest 
Crouched down and submitted, he fought best. 

There are wounds on his breast that can never be 

healed, 
There are gashes that bleed, and may not be sealed, 
But wounded and gashed, he won the field. 

And others may dream in their easy-chairs, 

And point their white hands to the scars he bears, 

But the palm and the laurel are his — not theirs ! 



62 DAISIES. 



DAISIES. 

Beautiful daisies ! 
Sitting and smiling along the rough ledges, 
And under the frown of the hawthorn hedges. 

Beautiful daisies ! 
Asking no favor except for room, 
A bit of a foot-hold, to be and to bloom. 

Beautiful daisies ! 
Swinging a censer whose breaths arise, 
A pure adoration up to the skies. 

Beautiful daisies ! 
Seeking no praises, but living to bloom, 
And gladden the breezes with sweet perfume. 



THE NEST IN THE HAW. 63 



THE NEST IN THE HAW. 



A haw, with branches of bloom ; 

And a bird on the topmost, 
Sitting and swinging, 
And merrily singing, — 

O'er all the sunshiny meadow 
Her glad music flinging. 



A brook is under the haw, 
With pads and white blossoms ; 

And eddying, curling, 

It gives them a twirling, 
And half drowns the tender white lilies 

With foaming and whirling. 



But out of the brook there slides 
A serpent gold-crested ; 

Star-bright are his eyes, 

But his lips are lies, — 
He spoils the nest of the redbreast, 

And wounded she flies. 



64 GOOD-MORROW! 



GOOD-MORROW ! 

Sunbeams, laughing, kiss the windows, 
Murmuring, " Open, little eyes ! 

The fields are filled with flowers and birds, 
The sky with butterflies ! " 

Rain-drops patter on the windows, 

Saying, " Sleep a little more ; 
The flowers are wet, the birds are hid, 

And rain beats on the door." 

Snow-flakes light upon the windows, 

Flying slow and silently, 
Just lisping, " Hush ! don't waken them 

Till we have heaped up high." 

Hailstones rattle on the windows, 
Crying, " Keep the children in ! 

For Day and Darkness are at war ; 
Wait until Day shall win ! " 



GOOD-MORROW! 65 

Apple-blossoms on the windows 
With their dainty fingers tap : 
" Now all who love the world, awake ! 
The world wakes from its nap." 



66 THE RED RIDER. 



THE RED RIDER. 

They fetched the fierce pretendei 

A captive to King Thorald's hall, 

And king and all his courtier train 
Were merrymaking at his fall. 

" How now, ye spurred Red Rider ! 

Where now thine iron-pointed pen, 
That wrote such royal promises 

To tempt my swords and serving men ! 

" Write now thy name, Red Rider, 

Upon the face of this fair wall, 
That these my guests may drink thy health, 
Whene'er they gather in my hall." 

Then straightway to the dais 

The knight approached with kingly stride, 
And from its scabbard snatched the blade 

That sparkled by King Thorald's side. 

None stirred ; death-still the chamber ; 
Till leapt a shriek from every part, 



i 



THE RED RIDER. 67 

As to the hilt the stranger thrust 



And smearing then his finger 

From off the dripping, gory thing, 

He scrawled across the marble wall 

These words of scarlet : " Eckhart, King." 

'T was written, and close wrapping 
His soldier's cloak about his face, 

He tottered to his brother's throne, — 

Then fell — and fear fell on the place. 

And prone were all the people, 

While shrill the queen and jester cried ; — 
For claimant-king, king-claimant, both, 

That fatal festal nisrht had died. 



63 SONG: THE CARPENTER. 



SONG : THE CARPENTER. 



I 'm sad, I 'm sad, for the joy I had 
Is wrecked like a craft in mid-sea ; 

It 's strange, but suddenly youth's fond hope 
Seems lost forever to me. 

Oho ! how slow the shavings go ; 

But let me do what I can, — 
For man, for man was meant for labor, 

And labor was meant for man. 



I 'm glad, I 'm glad, for the grief I had 
Has blown like a cloud away ; 

My heart, my plane, let us laugh together, 
For night has bloomed into day. 

Hi, hi ! how spry the shavings fly ! 

I '11 work as well as I can, — 
For man, for man was meant for labor, 

And labor was meant for man. 



SONG: THE CARPENTER. 



O, weary the hour that ushers toil, 
And heavy the moan of the plane, 

When labor is not the labor of love, 
And can be never again. 

Oho ! how slow the shavings go ; 

But let us do what we can, — 
For man, for man was meant for labor,. 

And labor was meant for man. 



But light is endeavor that hath a heart; 

O, sweet those sunshiny days, 
When every bird-call carols of hope, 

And joy speaks a thousand ways. 

Hi, hi ! how spry the shavings fly ! 

I '11 work as well as I can, — 
For man, for man was meant for labor, 

And labor was meant for man. 



JO THE HANDSEL RING. 



THE HANDSEL RING. 

[Introductory song to second edition of "The Legend of St. 
Olaf's Kirk."] 

" Here, lily-white lady mine, 
Here by thy warrior sire's own shrine, 
Handsel I thee by this golden sign, 

This sunshiny thing." 
Weeping she reached her hand so slim, 
Smiled, though her eyes were wet and dim, 
Saying : " I swear, by Heaven, by him, 

And by this handsel ring ! " 

But as she bended her eyes abashed, 
Out of his fingers the jewel flashed, 
On the gray flags of the kirk it clashed, 

That treacherous thing ; 
Clashed, and bounded, and circled, and sped, 
Till through a crevice it flamed and fled, — 
Down in the tomb of the knightly dead 

Darted the handsel ring. 



THE HANDSEL RING. yi 

" Matters not, darling ! Ere day be o'er, 

Goldsmiths shall forge for thy hands a score ; 

Let not thy heart be harried and sore 

For a little thing ! " 

" Nay ! but behold what broodeth there ! 

See the cold sheen of his silvery hair ! 

Look how his eyeballs roll and stare, 

Seeking thy handsel ring ! " 

" I see nothing, my precious, my own ! 
'T is a black vision that sorrow hath sown ; 
Haste, let us hence, for dark it hath grown, 
And moths are on wing." 
" Nay, but his shrunken fist, behold, 
Looses his lance-hilt and scatters the mold ! 
What is that his long fingers hold ? 

Christ ! 't is our handsel ring ! " 

And when the bridegroom bends over her, 
Neither the lips nor the eyelids stir ; 
Naught to her, now, but music and myrrh, — 
Needless his handsel rinsr. 



PART FOURTH. 

DRIFT FROM YORK-HARBOR, 
MAINE. 



ALONGSHORE. 

On Maine's rough coast-line, where its rocky front 
Frowns most forbiddingly, with sudden break ' 
A small, blue river pours into the sea, 
And widening forms a harbor, pent but safe ; 
Behind which, half concealed by buttonwoods, 
The church-spire of Old-York lifts to the winds 
Its weather-cock. 

Below this spire, a town, 
Where, truant from the city dials, come 
The lazy hours to lose themselves in dreams 
And sweet forgetfulness of summer heat ; 
An idle sort of place, where all day long 
It seems like evening with the day's work done, 
Where men haste not, because there is no haste, 
And toil but little, for they 've little need ; 
A restful corner, where the August breeze, 
From softly listening, finger on the lip, 
At length from listlessness falls fast asleep, 
Till there is no sound heard save, now and then, 



j6 ALONGSHORE. 

Some shrill cicada from his citadel 

Beneath a thistle, challenging the noon, 

The whet of scythe and heavy hoist of sail, 

The dip of unseen oars, monotonous, 

And softly breathing waves that doze below, 

Too weak to more than turn themselves, complain, 

And doze again. 

Here I 've a summer love 
To loiter, these small noises in my ears, 
And with far-looking eyes to drink the blue 
Of the near mountain, and turn back the leaves 
Of legends and dim-lettered histories 
From older days, when York was still a maid, 
And w r ore her virgin name. Sweet word it was ; 
The red-man gave it her, — his chieftain's name, 
Whom first the crooning west wind had baptized, 
And still all nature knows her by that name, 
Melodious with the murmur of sea waves 
And waving boughs, — for often in the night 
I 've heard the lonesome winds and hemlock-trees 
Calling together : " Ag-a-men-ti-cus ! " 
While the round mountain, where the legends say 
Still sleeps the chieftain, glowed with changing 

lights, 
As if the ghosts of long-departed tribes 



ALONGSHORE. 77 

Waved torches o'er their sachem's sacred dust. 

I love to stray along the straggling town, 

To peer into its cottages, low church, 

And jail long tenantless ; and lift the latch 

That now alone suffices to defend 

The block-house, once the town's frail lease of 

hope 
In days of discord. Following then the road, 
I wander beachward past the fishers' huts, 
With figure-head or horse-shoe on each door, 
Where men mend sails, and files of garrulous geese 
Discuss the turn of tides or weather signs, 
And solemnly file on. 

Here, from this knoll, 
The stretch of the blue ocean breaks in view, 
Flecked only by white sails, a tiny spire 
White like a sail, but still, — Boone Island Light ; 
And southward, like shy clouds that may dissolve, 
The Isles of Shoals, far glimmering. 

Now the road, 
With weakening steps, forgets to further stray, 
And slumbers by the quiet of the route, 
Leaving the outer world a wilderness, — 
Forgets, or was it memory of the deed 



78 ALONGSHORE. 

Once done here, that with milkweed choked the 

way? 
Blanching the lips of the adventurer, 
Who cried : " Here and no further will I fare ! " 
Look down, and on the bed-rock you will see 
Dull streaks of crimson lichens ; on this spot — 
'Twas long ago, but still the tale is new, 
For blood-spots never lose their horror — dropt 
York's first pale minister, a goodly man, 
Whom ill a town could spare at any time, 
Still less in those dark days. Here with one sigh 
He died, a hatchet buried in his brain, 
Filled but a moment earlier with sweet thoughts ; 
And here the murderer left his victim stript, 
And glorying in his shame ran to the church, 
Decked in the pastoral garb, and at its door 
Taunted the worshipers, as in twos and threes 
They came by foot or horseback. Lying here, 
No curse was read upon the open lips, 
But in this trickling autograph of blood 
The town-folk, outraged, traced the red-man's 

doom. 

A half mile further on, by slender path 

That twists and turns among a stunted growth 

Of teasels and snarl-rooted junipers, 



ALONGSHORE. 79 

Striving to hide the leanness of the land, 

We toil at length by an ascending grade 

To greener heights, where mid the lichened rocks, 

And dimples of the down by thistles hedged, 

The sheep find pasturage. Here on a knoll 

That southward slopes, close walled about by elms 

And chestnuts, warding off the winter winds, 

A farmstead nestles, with its clustering group 

Of barns, snug sheep-cotes, and wide, fertile fields 

Of ripening grain. 

I love this old, red house, 
Where many a summer night I 've lain at ease 
Behind that upper window looking east, 
And many a midnight willed to ward off sleep, 
Preferring the sweet melody of the waves, 
More restful. Naked is the building's face 
With not a vine upon it, but hard by 
Stand lilac bushes, where the birds weave nests, 
And from them carol when the day is new, 
Saying, " Good-morrow ! " — then a tall, drest elm, 
That guards the grindstone's place and helps to sift 
The glare and fervor from the midday sun, 
When from the meadow comes the glistening scythe 
To cool its brilliance with a watery edge, 
And tease the ear of the o'erheated day 



80 ALONGSHORE. 

With its keen rasp, far sounding. Here too stands 
The well-sweep, leaning to look down and greet, 
Within the hollow depth, a nether world 
And nether well-sweep. 

Just behind the house 
Hides an old orchard, where the pear-trees drop 
Delicious windfalls ; many an early morn 
I 've hastened there to find them, pushed apart 
The rank grass pearled with dew-drops, and peered 

down 
To catch their yellowing glimmer. There too smiles 
A garden, fragrant with sweet-smelling herbs, 
Where savory camomile and southernwood 
Weave spells that bring the blush of childhood 

back ; 
Where bloom bright four-o'clocks and bouncing- 
bets, 
With hollyhocks upon whose pink-white breasts 
The bees cling pendant, drunk with over-feast ; 
Where dying peonies, wading ankle-deep 
In their own life-blood, totter to their doom ; 
And fiery sunflowers lord it over all, 
Staring a gorgeous stare. 

Further behind 
Stand rocks precipitous, where last at night 



ALONGSHORE. 8 1 

The sunshine lingers, but no herbage finds, * 
For winds, those gypsy campers, trample it, 
Stealing the very sand ; while high o'er all 
Looms a dumb-beacon, landmark miles around, 
And when the night-winds, hid among the trees, 
Hold their tribunals and bewail their woes, 
It groans " Amen ! " in mournful unison. 
Here, when red sundowns set the west aflame, 
The view is glorious. Far off to the north 
The jealous land, with every wane of tide, 
Sends out into the surf a long, slim arm, 
And rolls and measures in its hollow hand 
A rocky isle, — the Nubble, it is called, — 
Glad landfall unto many a hungry eye, 
That in those early days, before a sail 
E'er whitened York's small harbor, strained to catch 
Some token of the new, half-doubted world. 
Next, circling like a sickle, toward us bends 
A yellow beach, the Long Sands ; then, black rocks,. 
Among which, like the gloomy lurking-place 
Of some sea creature, darkens a huge cave, 
In whose recesses, when the tide-waves flux, 
A hollow murmur echoes, heard far off, 
With sighs and breathings, strange, unspeakable, 
That deepen as the night-hush settles down, — 
A swashing, as of some unwholesome beast 
6 



82 ALONGSHORE. 

Turning its clumsy shape from side to side, — 
A crushing, as of monster jaws that craunch 
The ribs of mammals. 

Nearer still, more rocks, 
Piled orderless, among which stand exposed 
The remnants of a vessel that the sea, 
To prove the valor of its strong right hand, 
Once tossed and wedged there. 'T was a furious 

night ! 
I slept in my snug chamber ; waked, and heard 
The rain upon my window, dashed in sheets, 
With blasts that shook the roof-tree, and huge seas 
That seemed to rock the very hill itself 
Under the house. I felt a growing dread ; 
Then heard the men-folk stirring, and leapt up 
To seek companionship. We heaped the hearth 
With logs (though 't was not winter), gathering 

near, 
And telling tales of nights like unto this, 
And what dread sights they sometimes left to shock 
The waking daybreak. — tales of fate and woe, — 
Of fishing-smacks blown from far-distant ports, 
That meeting in the darkness kissed and sank j 
Of snow-winged ships that smiting on the reef 
Clinked mast and spar as brittle stems of ice, 



ALONGSHORE. 83 

And like a frost-scene melted in the surf ; 
Of funneled frigates, all their bravery shorn, 
Drifting unruddered over rainy seas ; 
Of two-score monsters in one long-boat crammed, 
With fevered lips still telling the red suns, 
And feeding on their decrease, till but one, 
With wolfish eyes, remained to tell of it ; 
And of a spectre bark with sails full set 
Which swept before an autumn equinox, 
Presaging that dull day when every house 
Was filled with lamentation. 

Talking thus, 
Of this, and that, and all things harrowing, 
And closing, with each finish of a tale, 
The circuit of our belt about the hearth, 
Sudden, — while every eye was round and fixed 
Upon the speaker, — sudden at the blind 
Came knockings, — and we started to our feet, 
Clutching each other, till the unlatched door 
Gaped open, and three haggard, wild-eyed men 
In staggered, begging in the name of Christ: 
" A draught of liquor, brothers, and a bed ! 
For we be dying ! " Thereupon the first, 
Falling across the threshold, choked the way ; 
And they who to the doorposts feebly clung, 



84 ALONGSHORE. 

Like spectres eyed us. From that wreck they 

came, — 
All that the waves had spared, — and when day 

dawned 
The shore with their companions was far strewn. 

Thus to the stranger, loitering from the town 
Or rowing roundabout, looks Norwood Farm. 
So looks the nook in which I love to hide, 
Forgetful of life's dull routine of cares, 
Forgetful that life other duty holds 
Than to lie down in the cool shade of trees, 
To drink the air and light, as flowers do, 
And rest completely. Here with half-shut eyes 
I 've dreamt light day-dreams, letting fancy fly 
Whither it would, so it flew not too far, 
To make return wing-weary. Some I 've held 
As keepsakes, that they might revive again 
The pictured dreams ; but as I read them now, 
I find, like pebbles picked at break of day 
From shining beaches, most have lost their charm 
With their lost sunglow. 

Such from Norwood's Knoll 
The scenes on which its beacon daily frowns ; 
And all about, on every side save one — 



ALONGSHORE. 85 

The narrow neck that links it with the world — 
A tide of sunshine breaks with waves of warmth 
On piebald hill-slopes sprinkled with ripe crops, 
Tossing the billowy fields of aftermath, 
And wreathes with trophies of the vine and oak 
This titan form, o'er which the summer flings 
A leopard's hide, that from its shoulder trails 
Down-sweeping to the carpet of the sea, — 
A sea white-capped, like ermine-mantled throne, 
On which this bold peninsula sits — king ! 



86 THE GATEWAY. 



THE GATEWAY. 

A VACATION EPISODE. 

We crossed the pasture-land together, 
I knew that now my time drew near, 

And hastened, longing for the moment, 
Yet lingering, holding back in fear. 

I wished the sunshine would not flicker 

Across the river in my eyes ; 
Then hers she shaded with her bonnet — 

How could I talk through that disguise ! 

I wished the catbird would not whistle, 
I paused till he grew tired and still ; 

And then the frogs took up the music, 
And lambs came bleating from the hill. 

Now all was silent ; in the stubble 
The crickets even held their peace ; 

But yet I waited, wishing only 

That all the crickets would not cease. 



THE GATEWAY. 87 

I saw the gateway as we neared it, 

I shaped my mouth and formed the word, 

When from her bonnet, bent demurely, 
A little laugh I thought I heard. 

A ploughboy passing, smiled and nodded, 
I bit my lip and blushed for shame ; 

Then stooped to pick a blood-red berry, — 
'T was sour, and speechless I became. 

I leaned upon the bars ; she fluttered 

A farewell signal back to me ; 
I turned, I staggered from the roadway, — 

Gray fog came drifting from the sea. 



THE SEASHORE. 



THE SEA-SHORE. 



To sit on the sand and read fine tales, 
To follow the slant of the whitened sails, 
And the clouds, to the south of the harbor's mouth, 
That shift and drift like a shoal of whales. 

To watch the waves as they kiss the land, 
To catch their foam in one's hollow hand, 
To hold it and feel the cool drops steal 

Through all one's being as through dry sand. 

To laugh with the boys who know nothing of 

care, 
To drift with their skiffs, nobody knows where, 
Till, drunken with day-dreams, life's mystery seems 
Dissolved in the wine of the slumberous air. 

The breeze is soft as the breath of a fan, 
But it faints on checks that are thin and wan, — 
Too thin for the heart's rill ever to fill, 
Too pale for the sunshine ever to tan. 



THE SEA-SHORE. 89 

Land, ocean, and air — the sun declines, 
And twilight, with soft pink fingers, twines 
A woof of the three, till one can scarce see 

The bound 'tween things earthly and things 
divine. 

Ye fairy ships, and ye ships of air, 
That trail with my thoughts beyond life's 
care, — 
With canvas like milk, and sheets of silk, 

Stoop down, and I '11 sail with thee anywhere ! 



90 THE REAPER. 



THE REAPER. 

The wheat-stalks are heavy and white, 

They slant beside the wall, 
And lean against each other, 

Lest they should faint and fall. 

Beneath them the poppies crouch, 
Knee-deep in their crimson bloom, 

And partridge and shuffling woodchuck 
Glide shyly into the gloom. 

mong them the brown bee strays, 
Oft stops to feed his fill, 
And bears his burden of sweetness 
Homeward over the hill. 

And over them, to and fro, 
The yellow butterfly wheels, 

Then, catching a flash of sunshine, 
Wafts it across the fields. 

The reaper leans on his scythe, 
And watches the river flow, 



THE REAPER. 

He watches a boat on its bosom, 
And the rowers as they row. 

His hopes are part of its freight, 
And, gazing with misty eyes, 

A tempest of sudden ruin 

Drives through the darkened skies. 

For the reaping time has come, 
And waiting the reaper stands, 

But the running river snatches 
The harvest from his hands. 



91 



92 FOUR- LEAF CLOVER 



FOUR-LEAF CLOVER. 

" If one find a four-leaf clover " 
(She said, sitting on the grass), 

" He can wish whate'er he likes to, — 
And that wish shall come to pass." 

" Do you say so ? " Then down kneeling 
'Mong the sorrel and cropt grass, 
Looked I for a four-leaf clover 
And my wish to come to pass. 

Long I searched among the sorrel, 
Close beside me she searched too ; 

Now and then some commonplaces 
Broke the silence, — but it grew. 

For my heart was full of yearning, 
And my mouth of eager words, 

But I dared not give them utterance, — 
So I hearkened to the birds ; 

And kept looking, looking, looking, 
While beside me she looked too, — 



FOUR-LEAF CLOVER. 93 

Two bent figures in the twilight, 
Green hills paling into blue. 

" Ha ! I have one ! " " Yes, and wished for ? " — 
" You ! and shall it be ? " I cried. 
Eyes cast down, she asked demurely, 
" Hath the clover not replied ? " 



94 THE BIG BELL. 



THE BIG BELL. 

A beacon overlooked the shore j 

Within a big bell hung ; 
And three stout men stood at the rope 

Whenever it was swung. 

In storms and tumults it was heard, 
Loud crying through the gloom, 

Or at the menace of strange craft. 
And fear was in its boom. 

It chanced, one day, that to the wharf 

Came Esther, Joseph's wife, 
And on the wet sand played her boy, 

The pearl of Esther's life. 

He chased the ripples up and down, 
He stoned the swooping birds, 

And called upon the tall gray cliff 
And made it speak his words. 

' Mamma ! mamma ! " The woman turned, 
He was not on the beach, — 



THE BIG BELL. 95 

Green breakers snatched and hurried him 
Far out beyond her reach. 

She saw his curls \ one sob to heaven 

The piteous mother sent \ 
Then struggling up the stony chasm, 

Her breathing well-nigh spent, 

She sprang within the tower door, 

She seized the hempen coil, 
And at the dozen shivering peals 

Each laborer left his toil. 

" O woe is me ! O grievous woe ! " 

The booming message rang, 
" Oh ! hasten, yeoman ! Woe is me ! " 

It cried, — " Clang-clang, clang-clang ! ' 

They placed the boy safe in her arms, 
And still the big bell hummed ; 

And Joseph bore them to his home, 
Before the bell was dumbed. 

The tower still stands beside the sea ; 

Within, the bell is hung ; 
But never yet hath man been known 

Who waked its mighty tongue. 



96 THE SUMMER STORM. 



THE SUMMER STORM. 

In a scurry of clouds 

Sudden day fell, 
What ho ! ye swallows ! 

All is not well. 

With broken flights 

They wheel through the sky, 
And sea-gulls, wailing, 

Go hurrying by. 

Up to the bars 

The cattle fare, 
And cries from the sheep-cote 

Fill all the air. 

O'er the frightened sea 
The storm-cloud leaps, 

And its shadow behind 
Like a garment sweeps. 

The slant rain beats 
The sea into froth, 



THE SUMMER STORM. 9/ 

The hoarse winds have left 
Their home in the north. 



High over the beach 
Blows white foam-sleet, 

On gray rock-walls 
The green tides beat. 

The reef is drowned, 

Boone Light is wiped out ; 
' It comes ! it comes ! " 
The women-folk shout. 

Now all is blotted, 

The world is no more, — 
But water, and wind, 

And the sea's uproar. 
7 



EVENING. 



EVENING. 

A level sea, 

A film of blue 
Covering the coast-line ; 

A sail or two ; 

A ship asleep 

On the offing's breast, 
A blood-red ball 

Low down in the west ; 

A poplar perched 

High on the hill, 
Black 'gainst the crimson, 

Stark and still. 

Now fades the great ball, - 

It was the sun, — 
And sky and ocean 

Melt into one. 



EVENING. 



Now the mists, like a tide, 
Slowly lift and lift, 

Till all the landscape 
Is set adrift. 



100 THE BLACK BOARS. 



THE BLACK BOARS. 

I. 

The Black Boars crouch, a huddling pile, 
Without York-Harbor half a mile ; 
And there, at ebbing of the tides, 
They wallow, sunning their shaggy sides, 
And pant and grumble all the while. 

About them the flat sea is broke, 
And fleecy foam-clouds, white like smoke, 
Lift heavenward and then landward drift 
Athwart the meadow, where they sift 
Soft rain o'er the driver and his yoke. 

' Wh-hoish ! my beauties ! " Martin said, 
1 Cheer up, my bonny one ; courage, Ned ! 

Another hour is all I ask, 

But we must haste to end our task, — 
For the Boars bode storm ere day be dead." 

Far down the river, beyond the bridge, 
Ruth caught their grunting, but a ridge 



THE BLACK BOARS. I 

Of yellow sand-dunes hid the view \ 
Blue sky she saw, and sunshine, too, 
That laughed on her flowering window-ledge. 

Work-weary she arose, pushed back 
Her girlish ringlets thick and black, 

And peering 'neath one shading hand, 

Perceived upon the river sand 
Her Elsie's barrow and small track. 

The tall clock told that it grew late ; 

Once more she twirled her wheel of fate ; 
The soft wool stretched and brake in two, 
The kitten caught it as it flew, — 

And chiding her, Ruth sought the gate. 

The sea lay motionless ; afar 

White smacks were tacking toward the bar ; 

Adown the hill filed home-bound herds ; 

She watched a few fast-flying birds, 
And following, missed the evening star. 

With sudden creak of the weather-vane, 
Wind-scuds, with gray squalls in their train, 
Came flocking from the misty south, 
Throwing a gloom o'er the harbor mouth, — 
A half-felt fear throbbed through her brain. 



102 THE BLACK BOARS. 

The river was still a line of light, 
Unflecked save by one dory's flight, 

That toward the darkened offing sped ; 
" Thank God ! " the mother fondly said, 
" It 's none of mine helms that boat to-night ! " 

For suddenly it seemed to her 
As if the Black Boars nearer were j 
A sound of laughter wandered by, 
And echoed back a low, sad cry, 
That sighed in the poplars, now astir. 

II. 

Now Martin from the meadow strode, 
His oxen bent 'neath their clover load ; 
Big rain-drops pattered on the barn, 
From the spinning-wheel trailed tangled 
yarn, — 
He called, then sauntered to the road. 

Down dropped night's curtains ; hand in hand 
Roamed floods of the air and sea and land ; 
And by the lightning's fitful glows 
Stalked from the sea huge, hooded rows 
Of breakers, thundering up the strand. 



THE BLACK BOARS. 103 

III. 

Snarled, drifting lily-pads still told 

An ebbing tide, and on it rolled 

A boat, Ruth tugging at the oars, — 
Too late she gave ear to the Boars, 

And pierced the treachery they foretold. 

Each wind-blast bore the name she cried ; 
The wreckers from the shore descried 
Her ghostly figure, and were afraid, 
For to each other low they said : 
1 The Boar-King claims to-night a bride ! " 

The pounding surf now sounds more near ; 

Her straining eyes in the gloom austere 
Shape flitting pairs of eyeballs bright, 
And rude, rough hands from left and right 

Her garments plucking, first wake fear. 

The swamping boat now rolls, now flies, 
A shuttlecock between sea and skies ; 
And toppling giddily in air, 
Below she sees the wild Boars' lair, 
And looks straight into their bloodshot eyes. 



104 THE BLACK BOARS. 

IV. 

Gray broke the drizzly dawn, and found 
Full half the sleepless town's-folk bound 
Along the streaming ocean front, 
Some wading, some in skiff or punt, 
Searching the sand and the marshes drowned. 

Sad was the scene it woke to show : 
Two shattered boats by the Boars crushed low j 
The father, stricken, found them there, — 
Like silkweed shone the tangled hair 
That bound together their breasts of snow. 



THE WITCH OF YORK. 105 



THE WITCH OF YORK. 

Up o'er the hill and broken wall 
There stole a weird form, bent but tall ; 

And softly through our unlatched door 
She crept unbidden, and before 
The hearth-fire crouching, gazed upon us all. 

All looked, none spake ; the chimney sighed ; 

The cat mewed drearily and tried 

To go but could not ; close and dim 
The room became, and ghastly grim 

The ghosts that fell on us and multiplied. 

We heard the gusts ride through the pines, 
We heard them twist from the trellised vines 
The bean-blows ; and the scowling west 
Sent up a growl of hoarse unrest, 
As of some hungry beast that frets and whines. 

Lean spectres seemed to spur the wind, 
Weird doubts and fancies stormed the mind, 



106 THE WITCH OF YORK. 

And doubt is fear, and what is fear 
But anguish ! — " Say ! what lurketh near ? 
Shall our to-morrow cruel prove, or kind ? " 

Then from her breast the creature drew 
Her fate-pack ; moodily she blew 

And deftly shuffled black with red ; 

Till Esther gaped and whispering said 
To Robert, " One would think she thought she 
knew." 

Whereat, the eyes of the woman-witch 
First sparkled, then grew black as pitch ; 
We shivered at her evil look, 
Her ear-rings in the glamour shook, 
And we could see her neck-cords writhe and twitch. 

The low clouds huddled overhead 

In black disorder ; on the shed 

We watched the sunshine, charging, beat 
Them back, then struggle and retreat : 

" Come, woman, come ! 't will soon be time for 
bed ! " 

She passed the pack ; the maiden broke 
It into three ; then Robert spoke : 



THE WITCH OF YORK. ioy 

"Tell, mother, this my sister's fate." 
The woman only muttered, " Wait ! " 
And silent, fanned the embers into smoke. 

The dim light lit the topmost card, 

She looked upon it long and hard, 

Then peering through her grisly brow 
Glared upward at the girl — " Now, now, 

Will I unlock my lips ; mind you each card ! 

"Ace hearts : sole child, and of love's bed ; 
A spade twice next : both parents dead ; 

Black tenners twice in turn — beware ! 

Though comely shaped, thy features fair, 
Thy feet in snares I see, webs round thy head. 

"No sister thou ! — black seven : no kin ; 

Aha ! queen clover, treacherous then ! 

Well may thy pouting mouth turn pale, 
Within a deuce, beneath swollen sail 

Thou fliest from some sorrow or some sin. 

" The second deal holds more. Still pain ! 
Within a tres behold thy stain 

A smoke to blur and blind the skies, 

A fire kindled, that thine eyes 
May quench not though they should dissolve as rain. 



108 THE WITCH OF YORK. 

" Black still and clover : in a one 

A coffin ; now third deal, and done. 

Hearts six, and dabbled o'er with red : 
Within that space thy wooer dead ; 

Spades seven : to thee are left seven years to run." 

Aghast we stood ; she spake no more, 

But flung the cards across the floor, 

And up the yawning chimney's throat, 
With wind-rush and one thunder note, 

She swept. — We looked, and saw the buttoned 
door. 

We heard the swallows cry and call, 
Then late, the storm's long looked-for brawl ; 
And louder, shriller than the last, 
Up through the cavernous flue one blast 
Sucked flame and fuel, cat and cards, — and all ! 



PART FIFTH. 
KETILL THE SAGAMAN. 



KETILL THE SAGAMAN. 

INTRODUCTION TO "SIX FLIGHTS OF THE 
DRAGONS." 

Seme, JVidaros, the Royal City of Norway ; Period, 
about 1 150 A. D. 



THE WINTER COURT AT NIDAROS. 

Long were the night-times on that slip of shore, 
Hedged in on one hand by the snow-capped hills, 
And to the westward by the main, upheaved 
And hillocky, that walled them from the world. 

Now Magnus, clept the Proper, best of men, 
On shoulders broad bore up the royal red 
In streeted Nidaros, — a peaceful man, 
More proud to be a father than a king ; 
And he, content to see his people glad, 
With rubicund, round face — a smiling sun, — 
Made them the more so. 



112 KET1LL THE SAG AM AN. 

Yet would seasons fall 
When even pampered sloth grew wearisome ; 
When for long time the north-glow's dream of day, 
By snow-wrack fenced and ever thickening fog, 
Left heaven free race-course for the hurricane , 
When from the smoking surface of the sea 
The gypsy lanterns of the moor-ild fled, 
And flickering went out ; and tardily 
The moonless nights dragged into sunless days, — 
Each night so like its mates in heaviness 
And each succeeding day so like the night, 
That to the yawning world of Nidaros 
The slowly trickling sand-glass on the shelf 
Seemed clogged in the throat, and the black bat of 

Time 
Clipt of its wings. 

Oft in such straits as this, 
Like a barred dungeon-keep became the court, — 
Each kaemper prisoned by his own camp-fire, 
Each skipper all too safely left astrand, 
Each huntsman to his own hole bayed and barked 
By wolf-packs, famine-driven from the hills. 
Then, ever watchful, down upon them charged 
The Spirit of Unrest, the Quarrelsome, 
Sloth's ever-ready handmaid, — locks unkempt, 



KETILL THE SAG AM AN. 1 13 

Tempests of passion in her eyes, — who sprang 

With easy stride across that steed untamed, 

The roaring North- Wind, fretting his white flanks 

With bony thigh, and heel, and willowy scourge, — 

And dropt into their midst. Unwelcome guest, 

She pushed unbidden to their banquet-hall ; 

And, planted ghostlike at the upper board, 

A hollow-eyed and scowling seneschal, 

Sucked the light breath of wick and smoking brand, 

Unspiced the dishes, turned to dissonance 

The flourish of the trumpet that foretold 

Each change of platter ; and from every mouth, 

Though full-fed and with laughter puckered, stole 

All mirth and mask of it. 

But ever then 
Ere hate of fellowship and hate of all 
Had time to mutter into voiced complaint 
And thrust its clamor to the royal ear, 
Would Magnus read it ambushed in the eye 
And torpid tongue, and ready-witted speed 
Slim pages to each chamber of his house, 
Proclaiming, " Vesper being rung this night, 
We will to guest-hall, and the skald shall sound 
The masterful exploits of Harold's days;" 
Or " Lady Valborg's lips, by song-craft stirred, 



114 KETILL THE SAG AM AN. 

Have to her harp a tender ballad taught ; " 
Or " He of Flanders with his jugglery 
Shall play the herbrest and astound our ears ;" 
Or " With us lodge we a far-traveled guest, 
Late from our neighbor isle of Angle-Land, 
Whose tales of the last tournay, warming us, 
Shall deck with summer-glow our dingy walls, 
Shall filch from each all thought of present ill, 
Kindle the tinder of each ashen cheek, 
And with a youngling's ardor kiss away 
The frown from every forehead." 

Then post-haste 
Throughout the skali, honeycombed and vast, — 
Itself a petty realm, shorn from the rest 
By stress of weather, — with light pattering feet 
And tongues untethered would the pages flit, 
Coursing the windy flights and passage-ways, 
Pushing unheralded in every room, 
E'en ladies' bower, their tossing yellow hair ; 
And summer would steal back to darkened eyes, 
And yawns and sighs to ready laughter yield. 

Thus, one mid-winter time, when sleet and frost 

Beleaguering the palace-prison walls, 

So closely sat that few had ventured forth 



KETILL THE SAG AM AN. 115 

For a full sennight, ran the welcome word. 
Promptly the meal was served, the vesper chimed, 
The praying priest cut short of his "Amen," 
And the long guest-hall thronged to furthest bench 
By all the household, ringed in babbling groups 
About the bonfires, roaring down their midst. 

Knight, squire, and house-carle sat as equals here : 
Some backward swaying, propt upon one arm, 
Scanning the pictured carpets on the walls ; 
Some burying pale cheeks between both fists 
To follow those that gamed ; still more with bairn 
Or goodwife at their sides, or favorite hound ; 
While some, bow-backed, unruffled hugged their 

knees, 
And leaned to listen for the twentieth time 
To some spent tale. And though impatient all, 
Each suddenly found much that must be said, — 
For time being afield, like pack unleashed 
All sped to join the chase, tongues running wild ; 
And whether rat or roebuck were the quest 
Mattered but little. 

Garrulous the hour 
Ere from the threshold of the royal rooms 
Swept in the court and courtiers ; whereupon 



Il6 KETILL THE SAG AM AN. 

With much ado of bench and buskined foot, 

Crushing sweet odor from the cedar sprays, 

All else arose ; and the high-constable 

With staff of office overtopped the din, 

Sounding the salutation : " Hail, all hail ! 

Hail to King Magnus ! and our new-come guest ! " 

Whereto, with mighty echo, as of billows 
That storm a rock-walled shore, adown the hall 
Resounded the fair words of welcome : " Hail ! 
Hail to King Magnus ! and our new-come guest ! " 

II. 

THE SAGAMAN. 

" Who, comrade, is the stranger that we greet ? " 
One to another whispered, " and wherefrom, 
This unkind month ('the howler'), hath he come, 
Dropt like a troll-stone ? " 

" Ketill, I am told, 
The golden-tongued, who, but a twelfth-night since, 
Trusting himself to horse the hoary sea 
That, raging, to the low clouds flung its froth, 
Left Floki's Isle with letters for this court ; 



KETILL THE SAG AM AN. 117 

And in the whirlwind of the stormy sky 
Caught helpless by the hollow-handed gale, 
Flew whistling through the gloom of unseen snows, 
Helped by the hands that would unsaddle him, 
Till (praised be Rana !) though by wind and wave 
Shorn to the quick, until unkeeled he drave 
With strained and naked mast, he nath'less made 
Our stormy Nidarness, and weathering that, 
Now houses with us." 

" To this westerling 
Is Nidaros a stranger ? " 

" Aye, my friend ; 
But not so Ketill to our Nidaros, 
For every kaupskip flying from the west 
Hath sung his praises ; and now well, now ill, 
Oft harassed us with snatches of his lore, 
Which echoing hither in such broken strain, 
Yet tuneful still, to Lady Valborg's ears, 
Have by her mouth been cunningly recast 
In moving ballad and glad roundelay." 

" Of lineage is he ? " 

" That he is, forsooth ! 



Il8 KETILL THE SAG AM AN. 

His veins still tingling with that noble strain, 
The blood of Snorri, Vinland's princeliest gift 
To Iceland. Knowst thou not the story old 
Of how the virgin West-world, being won, 
Conceived, and to our stalwart race bequeathed 
A man-child as its heir, — one Snorri ? Nay ? 
The more, then, wilt thou relish Ketill's words ; 
For this, saith gossip, is the saga store 
The King will sue for." 

Whereupon a pause, 
And there was stillness in the place of din, — 
Save, shrill without, the whistle of wild winds, 
Dashes of sleet, and pound of pebbly hail ; 
While, warm within, the crackle of fat brands 
Widening their summer circle on the floor, 
Brake in between the drench and cheery cry 
Of mungat bubbling in oft-emptied bowls. 

High on the dais, ringed by twinkling wicks, 

Sat Magnus, with Queen Thora by his side ; 

At right of whom was Hakon, Norway's heir, 

And Hilda, the pale princess \ to the left, 

Sir Axel Thordson, chiefest of the knights. 

Smiling response to many a friendly beck, 

With close beside him — trothed, and hair in snood, 



KETILL THE SAG AM AN. 119 

And yet unclouded by her hovering doom — 
The Lady Valborg, loveliest of the court 
And most beloved. 

" Comrades," quoth the King, 
" All hail to gentle Ketill, newly come 
From our far sister state of Floki's Isle, 
Where in the stead of Ari, lately dead, 
He filleth worthily the abbot's see. 
And if it be his pleasure, we, ere morn, 
Will quaff his spicy saga of the west, 
That wonder-land of Leif the Fortunate, 
Whereof our Lady Valborg oft hath sung, 
Painting the place a flowery paradise, — 
Where eager sunshine, not content with one, 
Smiled and caressed all seasons, each in turn. 
But doubtless, with her tinkling woman's tongue, 
Oft chiming woe so it doth lovely seem, 
She hath but rung the pleasant harmonies, 
And left all wild or jangling tones untouched. 

" To-night we would live o'er the troublous past, 

And be a part of it, courting the shade 

As well as sun-glow ; and full well we know — 

O modest master of the saga school — 

That mead-cup here to-night hath kissed no mouth 



120 ICE TILL THE SAG AM AN. 

So fit to fling aside the veil as thine, — 

Thy voice a clarion that all ears commands, 

Thy thoughts brave watchwords, worthy to be 

nicked 
Along our tables and by all men known. 

" Then show us, Ketill, how through lifting fog 
First Biarni saw a new-born world leap up 
From the white breakers ; with thy ready lips 
Relate the lucky flight that gave to Leif 
An entrance to the gates unlocked before ! 
Tell us how Thorwald, his first brother, fared ; 
And Thorstein, with sweet Gudrid, after-wed 
To Yarl Karlsefne ; and in course recall 
Those two most sombre flights yet further on, 
Led by that wolfish woman, born to taunt 
And chasten Erik for his youthful sin, 
Lustful Freydisa ! Fear not, modest guest, 
To weary us, for long ere thou wert come 
We learned the witchcraft of thine eloquence. 
We wait thy pleasure, and are thine to please ! " 



KETILL THE SAG AM AN. 121 

III. 

THE SCHOOL OF THE PRIESTS. 

" All hail ! Norway's king, and mine as well ! 
And hail ! thy lady queen, thy kin, thy kith, 
Thy knights and ladies, and thy gentlemen ! 
But standing forth in this fair company, 
Where every one is friend, and every friend 
O'errates the prowess of my priestly tongue, 
My words sound hollow in the lofty hall, 
And gladlier would I listen than relate. 
Yet I am thine till thou art tired of me, 
And lot me but a week of nights like this, 
And ere the yule-logs feeding these long hearths 
Make summer out of season, and gay groups 
Of jeweled dancers jingling o'er thy floors 
Usher more blithe amusement, — I will strive 
To fittingly unearth the buried past, 
To lend to it such color as I may ; 
And, as I may, to picture slowly forth 
In red and azure (as your ladies do, 
Pricking brave scenes upon their sampler webs), 
Half-glimpses from those fateful voyages six 
Of skipper Biarni and the dragon flock 
That, following him, sought nest-room for their 
broods. 



122 KETILL THE SAG AM AN. 

" But ye must fillip me whene'er your eyes 
Grow heavy or my discourse dull ; for I, 
Long loving the old road, grass-grown, though trod 
By many a stately ghost, may soon outpace 
Your patience, ambling thoughtlessly along, 
Nor note your lagging steps, till glancing back 
I find myself companionless, and ye 
Asleep among the hedges. 

" Iceland's past 
Hath been my dream -coast, o'er whose breezy 

cliffs, — 
Like seabird glorying in a world-wide fief, 
Its will the only pilot of its course, — 
Have I sailed up and down the misty shore, 
Hovering whene'er I would, or hastening by ; 
And toward the daydawn climbing, have I lived 
That happier existence, all unvext 
By the dull nowadays, which bairns oft know, 
Ere the blue sky where late they trimmed for flight 
Hath faded from their eyes. 

" Seeking for text 
I do but stoop and loose one unbound leaf 
From Iceland's storied scrolls. These, legend- 
wise, 



KETILL THE SAGAMAN. 1 23 

All lived from lip to lip till Saemund came, 
Yclept the ' Learned,' who with wizard hand 
Nibbing a gray-goose pinion, gave, and said : 
' Thou Ketill, of the many beardless boys 
That call me master, art my most-beloved, 
Whose presence near at hand hath made me glad 
E'en when I looked not on thee, and whose eyes, 
Flashing with youth and smiling in my own 
Whene'er I smiled, have made mine own grow 

young. 
To thee, then, I assign the hardest task ; 
To thee, high-born, of lordly heritage, 
And, likelier yet, of gentle breeding too, — 
A listener worthy of the subtlest tongue, 
Thyself apt-spoken and of dextrous quill, 
Precise in small things, patient in them all — 
(Your pardon, such were Saemund's words to 

me), — 
To thee, whom I will seal my son and heir, 
To thee I set apart the proudest task. 
Come, Ketill, wed thy young wit unto mine, 
And fill an old man's cup ! My work thou kenst ; 
Draw closely to my side till thou canst feel 
The flutter of my pulse and read my thoughts ; 
And even as thou readest, teach thy quill 
To tell them to the parchment. Toiling thus, 



124 KETILL THE SAG AM AN. 

As west winds full of music, from the hills 
Break up the banks of sea-fog, we will lift 
The curtain of forgetfulness, rebuild 
The crumbling ramparts of our Iceland's past ; 
And peopling these with men and womenfolk, 
Will pulse our current through their palsied veins 
And breathe into their nostrils, — till aroused, 
Heroes shall leap from their long dreamless sleep, 
And flinging up the face-bar of their helms 
Speak and instruct us ! ' 

" Well content was I, 
Loving my priestly master, whose pale face 
Shines ever yet before me ; and forthwith, 
With echoing feet we through the cloisters fared, 
Mingling our shadows with the streaked shade 
That on the grassy close the columns cast, — 
And calling down the swallows, curve on curve 
Cutting the square of blue that smiled above. 
Then pushing wide the panel of a door, 
That hoarsely on its brazen hinges cried, 
We wended way into the scrivener's hall, 
High-roofed, and with a holy stillness filled ; 
Where 'neath the softened light of pictured panes 
We labored pleasantly, day out, day in, 
To give tongues to the parchments. 



KETILL THE SAG A MAN. 12$ 

" But before 
My hand was weary or my goose-quills spent, 
More bowed was Saemund : and his manly voice, 
That erst was clear and mellow in its ring, 
Grew thin and treble. Oft he stopt for words, 
Or still repeated them, — the thought he tracked 
Flying before him like a hunted thing, 
That sails a little space and soft alights, 
But when you come, again lifts whirring wings. 
And one gray afternoon, as the great bell 
Boomed forth the vesper and the hour of rest, 
Lo ! in the middle of a phrase, my pen 
Still thrilling with his speech, he paused and ceased ; 
And when, after a space, I eyed askance, 
Thinking to find him buried in his books, 
Silent he sat, with chin upon his breast 
As though he slept. 

" But to that sudden sleep, 
Alas ! my friends, no waking was foredoomed ; 
And when the tumult of the hour was past, 
And groping through the cloisters I crept back 
To the low desk, I found the room grown vast, 
I heard the west wind weeping at the eaves, 
And felt the wings of death still winnowing 
The night-air ; and upon my knees I breathed 



126 ICE TILL THE SAGA MAN. 

A broken prayer, and sobbed there in the dark. 
Then rising, to the blinking wax I gave 
A spark of life ; and struggling with my grief, 
Shore off the chapter where my hand had dropt, 
With the one word, then taken first to heart, 
A simple ' Finis.' 

" Pitiful it was 
To see the task thus broken in its midst, 
But well I wist that he would have replied, 
In that all-brave, all-hopeful strain of his : 
' Nay, boy, not pitiful, else all were so 
In this world's field. The cause it is that counts, 
And not one standard-bearer less or more. 
Our ripest work must hereto come at last, 
For none, however painfully he strive, 
Hath ever yet been able at the end 
To smile and say, Now is my work complete, 
And I full satisfied ! But well it is 
If one as he lies down to sleep can sigh : 
Unfinished still the journey, still afar 
The height toward which I toil ; but God be praised 
For giving me the strength thus much to gain ! ' 

" So Saemund's book was closed ; and though full 
fain, 



KETILL THE SAG AM AN. 127 

I could not for a twelve-month find the heart 
To loose the hasp that bound it, and turn o'er 
The painted pages. 

" Some moons after that 
Came to me learned Ari, Saemund's friend, 
Versed in the mystery of the Roman rune, 
With this upon his lips : ' His wish would be, 
Who from his labor lieth now at rest, 
That we who loved him lift and carry on 
The load he late let fall. Sole heir art thou 
To his rich lore, and ere some new mischance 
Shall whirl and scatter to the windy night 
The leaves of Saemund's knowledge, let us speed 
To lock their wealth in worthy cabinets.' 

" Thus, the new abbot aiding, — who, alas ! 
Hath lately followed Saemund to his rest, — 
The treasure grew, the famed Landnama-Book, 
From sun to sun still rounding into form 
As others to it leave their fresh bequests ; 
Which to the gaze of Northmen yet to come 
Will track the footprints of our centuried past, 
And where they last would challenge, find them 

friends 
And old-time fullness of their new-formed faiths." 



128 KETILL THE SAG AM AN. 

IV. 

THE SAGA OF THE WEST. 

" Such were the tasks wherein my youth was 

schooled. 
But what I now will tell is still unwrit, 
The precious heirloom of our olden house, 
Through three half-centuries from mouth to mouth 
Of first-born unto first in turn bequeathed, 
Until to me it latest falls : — a tale 
That is no romaunt, gran dam-rhymed, to make 
A child big-mouthed, — no skaldic trick of tongue 
To tickle a yarl's pride and tempt from him 
A singing purse ; but history's own shield, 
Dinted and scored with many a speaking rune, — 
Left by my father Ranglat unto me, 
And by his mother Steinunn unto him, 
And by her father Snorri unto her, 
And by his sire Karlsefne unto him, 
Who left its story woven on his walls 
In pictured groups and runic characters, 
And carven on the shoulders of his bench, 
That none might lose or twist it. 



KETILL THE SAGA MAN. 1 29 

" Thus it lived. 
But Yarl Karlsefne told it not as I, 
Who like a prattling parrot do but play 
The mouthpiece to resound another's strain, 
For he was one of the brave skipper band, 
Whereof I speak, who in his dragon sailed 
To people Vinland, and in chiefest deeds 
Was one of the chief doers. 

" Drink with me, 
My friends, to his fair name, my kinsman proud, 
This Thorfinn, clept Karlsefne or ' The Manly,' — 
This worthy Thorfinn, Iceland's merchant prince, 
And hero of all heroes in my tale, 
My Vinland Saga." 

Tall, and still afoot, 
Bent Ketill, as a house-carle brimmed his cup ; 
Puffed the light foam aside to wet his lips, — 
Tilted and drained it. 

Then once more the King : 
" First at thy ease be cushioned, guest of ours ! 
Behold thy hearers ! — even Valborg here, 
Whose comfort most we reck of, next to thine, 
Hoping that she may second thee in song, 
9 



130 KETILL THE SAG A MAN. 

Lieth like nestled kitten 'neath the arm 

Of Axel, her betrothed. Rest thou at ease ! 

For making thee our guest, our house is thine, 

Our arms, our underlings, our friends thy friends, — 

Our foes thy foes, if thou wilt father them, — 

Thine whate'er cheer the famished wolf of Time 

Hath in our cellars left unbroken still, 

And every wish of thine, our wish and will." 



THE END. 

Beyond each hill-top others rise, 
Like ladder-rungs, toward loftier skies : 
Each halt is but a breathing space 
For stirrup-cup and fresher pace ; 
Till who dare say, ere night descend, 
There can be, ever, such thing as End ! 



MODERN CLASSICS. 



The convenient little volumes published under this title 
are in the best sense classic, though all of them are modern. 
They include selections from the works of the most eminent 
writers of England and America, and translations of several 
masterpieces by Continental authors. 

These selections are not what are generally known as " ele- 
gant extracts," detached paragraphs which are peculiarly quot- 
able ; but they consist, in most cases, of entire poems, essays, 
sketches, and stories. The authors are not only shown at 
their best, but so fully as to give an adequate idea of their 
various styles, modes of thought, and distinguishing traits. 

In several instances the selections from an author are ac- 
companied by a biographical or critical essay from another 
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interest both to the essay and to the selections. The choice 
character of the selections in these volumes makes them pe- 
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fits them admirably to put in one's pocket for reading on a 
journey. The series contains thirty-two little volumes^ care- 
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trated. 

Circulars of the " Modern Classics," naming the contents 
and the authors, will be sent to any address, on application, 
by the Publishers, 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY, 
BOSTON, MASS. 



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